


Every Time a Bell Rings

by PixelByPixel



Series: Death Takes a Holiday [7]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Amenadiel is uncommunicative, Behold the healing powers of chocolate cake, Cake, Gen, Maze does not get to hit anyone, Michael is obnoxious, Protective Lucifer is Protective, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Rivalry, Unexpected Visitor, Wings eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-11 23:20:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10476816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelByPixel/pseuds/PixelByPixel
Summary: Previously in the series, Azrael, removed from her position as the Angel of Death, was sent (in the body of a mortal child) to stay with Lucifer.In this story, an unexpected visitor leads to Azrael regaining her wings, and Lucifer has to deal with a brother who dislikes him.





	1. An Unexpected Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> The title has probably been done before, but titles are not really my strong point.

Azrael woke, but remained motionless in her bed, consumed by the feeling of a presence in the room with her. Ignoring her throbbing head, she turned as if moving in her sleep, scanning the room through barely-cracked eyes.

There it was: a figure sat in her chair. In the dimly-lit room, her mortal eyes could only see his outline: big, with short, tightly-curled hair.

After a moment, she heard him humming quietly, probably what had woken her. She listened, trying to place the song. When she realized that it was Sarah McLachlan's _Angel_ , she sat up, then winced as the movement increased the ache in her skull. "Michael, you son of a bitch! I hate that song, and now it's going to be stuck in my head all day."

"Language," her brother rebuked, though he sounded amused. Taking in Azrael's expression, he added, "Oh, overindulged a bit, did we? You know Father wouldn't approve."

"If he doesn't approve, he can tell me himself," Azrael replied wearily. She leaned over to turn on her light. "Were you just sitting there watching me sleep? That's so creepy. What are you, a vampire?"

Michael smiled. "You looked so peaceful. I didn't want to wake you. Glad you're finally up, though. I was getting bored."

"You could have just left and come back at a reasonable hour of the day," Azrael suggested. Then, as Michael's presence actually registered in her sleep-addled brain, she sat up straighter, eyes lighting with a sudden, painful hope. "Why are you here, brother?"

Michael shook his head and answered the question that Azrael hadn't asked. "Father didn't send me to bring you home." Azrael's response was graphic and explicit, and elicited a look that somehow mingled disapproval and admiration from Michael. "I don't think that's physically possible," he replied. "Even for us. Very creative, though." After a moment, he added, disapproval growing stronger, "Lucifer is obviously rubbing off on you."

Azrael eased herself back onto the bed and pulled a blanket over her head. "Well, you can go away and give it the old college try," she suggested, her voice muffled. "You're bendy. I know you can do it." 

Michael sighed. Little sisters. "If I make your headache go away, can we have a civil conversation?"

The blanket edged downward, revealing disheveled blond hair and wary brown eyes. "About what?"

"I'll take that as a yes. I'm not as skilled as Raphael, but I can manage this much." Michael moved to sit on the edge of the bed and rested the heel of one hand on Azrael's forehead, the darkness of his skin contrasting sharply against her pallor. After a moment, she relaxed against the bed and Michael removed his hand. "Headache gone?"

"Yes, thank you," Azrael replied, adding indistinctly, "Feels better when Mom does it."

Michael peered quizzically at his sister. "What was that?" When her look of wide-eyed puzzlement was his only reply, he shook his head. "Sit up, would you? And fix your hair; you look like a haystack."

Azrael obligingly sat up, crossing her legs tailor-fashion, and shook her hair out of her eyes. "Well, you can't exactly expect the height of style if you show up unannounced in my bedroom." Peering curiously at Michael, she asked, "How much healing can you do?"

Michael moved to his former seat in the chair. "Not much more than that, really. Why?"

"I'm trying to figure out if you can restore me to, well, my former glory." Azrael smiled hopefully, eyes wide. 

With a rueful smile, Michael observed, "You're getting good at wielding the cuteness. It's actually a little disturbing."

Azrael's brows lifted. "Is that a yes?"

Michael shook his head. "Even if I wanted to cross Father - which I do not, as you well know - I couldn't restore you. The only one I can think of who could is Raphael, and he wouldn't, same as me. You just have to wait until Father thinks you're ready."

Azrael's shoulders slumped. "But what does that even mean?" she asked softly. "Michael, I want to please him, but I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing."

"Well, what _have_ you been doing?" Michael queried, his expression thoughtful.

Azrael's brows lowered as she considered her answer. "I've been trying to understand them," she explained. "The humans, I mean. Reading their books, watching them, talking to them sometimes. Finding out what they think of me - well, death. There was a man in ancient Egypt who wrote that death was..." She hesitated, then quoted, " _Like the home that a man longs to see, after years spent as a captive_. Nice sentiment. But he was the exception."

Michael nodded as he listened, but suggested, "Might be worth getting out there and doing something - participating, rather than observing. I think you'll have an opportunity soon."

"Why does hearing that make me nervous?" Azrael queried, though she smiled as she added, "Maybe you're right. I've been starting to get restless. I was hoping to hear something from Dad before I did anything, though."

Looking as if he knew the answer, Michael asked, "He's not been communicative lately?"

Azrael shook her head. "If by lately you mean... well, _ever_ , then the answer is no. And I've been asking; I've tried churches and everything, but nothing. Has he said anything to you about me?"

"Sorry, no. But he's keeping an eye on you, if that makes you feel any better."

"Not especially," Azrael muttered. Hesitantly, she asked, "Did he... send you? Today?"

Michael shook his head. "No. I came on my own." With a faint smile, he added, "Just wanted to see how you were settling in. You know, new body and all."

Azrael pursed her lips. "I know, yes. Trust me, I'm not likely to forget. I'm doing as well as can be expected."

Michael added lightly, "Laying off the alcohol might be a good idea, though, really. You know Father doesn't like it. Plus, that body clearly can't handle it."

Azrael made a face. "I've been drinking since 1556 and he hasn't objected. I doubt it will make a difference."

Michael's brows lifted. "You remember the year? _You_?"

"Brother, I remember the day," Azrael replied seriously. "You may have a point about this body, though." She exhaled a short, frustrated breath and asked, "Look, Michael, has he given you any sign as to how long he thinks this is going to take? I mean, I know Father works in his own time, but... have you _seen_ what adolescence does to mortals? Lucifer and I have already butted heads a little, and I can't see puberty helping there. I'd really want to live somewhere else if I'm going to be in this body long-term. A little distance would help."

"No," Michael said sharply, the good humor fading from his mien. "No, that wouldn't go over well at all. Father was very clear about that: he wants you here with Lucifer. This is temporary, I promise, though I'm not sure how long."

Azrael lifted her hands in a brief gesture of surrender. "Fine. I'll stay, if that's what he wants. But Michael, I don't understand."

"You don't have to understand," Michael replied severely. "Just do as you're bidden, little sister."

Azrael's mouth twisted into an expression that was not a smile. "I always do," she replied bitterly. "For all the good it does me. I'm obedient, and if I'm lucky our father will throw me a bone. Maybe a pat on the head, if I do especially well." She passed a hand across her forehead, then looked intently at Michael. Her voice lowering, Azrael said, "My wings."

Sounding a little impatient, Michael asked, "What of them?"

Azrael didn't look at him. Still speaking quietly, she said, "I'd like them back. Could you ask him, please? The rest of it wouldn't be so bad if I just had my wings."

Michael regarded his sister for a long moment, and a trace of sympathy crossed his face. He rested a hand on Azrael's shoulder, and she looked up, a silent plea in her eyes. "I can't promise anything," Michael said finally. "But I'll ask."

Azrael closed her eyes for a moment. "Thank you, brother."

Making no further reply, Michael disappeared, the wind of his passage sending Azrael's hair into disarray once more. Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she noticed a bundle on the chair where Michael had been sitting. Stretching, she pulled it onto the bed: a black leather jacket. Holding it before herself, she saw the design: barely-visible wings had been tooled onto the back.

"This wasn't what I meant," she murmured, "but at least it's subtle, for once."

Azrael draped the jacket on the foot of the bed and stretched out once more. Looking up at the ceiling she said softly, "If you're really listening, Dad, I could use a little guidance. It doesn't have to be obvious. I don't need lighting bolts - in fact, I'd be grateful to avoid them, if you don't mind. Just something small, to let me know if I'm doing your will. Please."

Silence. Azrael sighed and lay down once more, pulling the covers back over her head.

* * *

Azrael sat at the piano, quietly playing the song Michael had been humming earlier.

Lucifer stepped out of his bedroom and, catching sight of his sister, moved to join her. "Oh, anything but that," he protested. "You're playing it well, but it's so _maudlin_."

Azrael looked over with a quick smile. "Sorry, it's been stuck in my head. But it's not all bad. You just associate it with sad-looking animals."

Lucifer tipped his head, acknowledging the point, then looked toward the kitchen. "What do I smell?"

A little sheepishly, Azrael admitted, "Angel food cake. There's plenty if you'd like some." Seeing a bit of hesitation from Lucifer, she added teasingly, "You're allowed to eat it. It's not like there are rules. And there's creme anglaise and macerated berries to go with it."

Lucifer chuckled, his brows lifting. "My, you have been a busy bee, haven't you? You're actually looking a lot more chipper than I was expecting, considering last night." He turned to investigate the cake, Azrael trailing behind him.

"Yes, well, there's a reason for that," Azrael replied, as Lucifer assembled his cake. "I, ah, had a late-night visitor. Brother Michael was here. He took away the headache and all, but then I couldn't get back to sleep."

Lucifer turned slowly. "Michael was here?" he asked, his jaw tightening. "In my home?"

Azrael edged back a step. "And suddenly I realize why Michael showed up in the middle of the night. I didn't ask him here, brother. And maybe put down the knife, if you're finished cutting the cake?"

Lucifer glanced at his hand then, with a shake of his head, put the knife into the sink. "Sorry. Michael and I haven't been on good terms in some time," he said tightly. "Why was he here?"

"Checking up on me," Azrael replied, nudging the plate of cake a little closer to her brother.

Lucifer took up his fork and tasted the cake, then actually looked at it. "This is quite good," he said. "Mind, I prefer the devil's food-"

"Naturally," Azrael murmured, with a grin.

"-but I do like this. What is that flavor, almond?" Azrael nodded and Lucifer took another bite before asking, "What did Michael have to say?"

Azrael sat down next to her brother and ticked off the points on her fingers. "He thinks I should get involved with the humans more: participation rather than observation. He suggested that I stop drinking, which may not be a bad idea. Oh, and I'm forbidden to move out, sorry about that."

Lucifer's fork paused above the partially-eaten cake. He drew himself up. "Move out?" he echoed, his voice hurt. "You're going to leave?"

"No," Azrael said quickly, though she eyed Lucifer with some curiosity. "I just brought it up with Michael because, well, my situation is kind of open-ended. I don't really know how long I'm going to be here, and I don't want to cramp your style..."

Lucifer shook his head. "None of that," he said briskly. "I extended the invitation and I meant it. However long you're here is a drop in the bucket compared to our existence."

Azrael ducked her head and smiled. "Well, then. Okay. Thanks."

Lucifer started in on the cake again. "By the way, Mum had an interesting theory, when we spoke the other night."

"Oh?" Azrael queried. "Do I want to hear it?" She considered Lucifer's cake, then got herself a slice, topping it with the berries and creme. She returned to her seat, lowering her head in a brief prayer.

Lucifer sighed. "Really? You're still doing that?"

Azrael grinned. "I was giving thanks for the hands that made the cake." She lifted one hand. "Thank you." And the other hand. "Thanks to you, too. Nice job, hands. Now what was that about Mom's theory?"

Lucifer briefly echoed his sister's grin, then nodded, his expression sobering. "Seeing as how it pertains to your situation, yes, you probably want to hear it. She thinks that you're not actually here because of Uriel's death. Said that even Dad wouldn't overreact like that."

Azrael was silent for a long moment, ostensibly chewing her cake. "Michael told me that was why," she said finally, her expression troubled. "I... he wouldn't lie, Luci."

"Do you remember exactly what he said?" Lucifer asked, his dark eyes serious. "You know how he can be, just skirting the truth."

"We're almost all like that," Azrael replied dryly. She thought for a moment, then shook her head. "I can't remember, no. I was still kind of shocked about Uri; I didn't exactly pay the closest attention."

Lucifer polished off the last of this cake. "Well," he said thoughtfully, "we could call brother Michael here and get an explanation straight from the ass's mouth."

Azrael shot a sidelong look at her brother. "...suggests the man who just admitted to not being on good terms with Michael? Is that a great idea? And I thought it was the horse's mouth."

"I stand by my statement," Lucifer replied, with a smirk. "Rae, I can handle myself with Michael, if you want to speak with him."

Azrael observed, with a dubious look, "I can't break the two of you up, if something should happen. Should we get some backup?"

"Maze?" Lucifer suggested, his eyes lighting at the prospect. 

Azrael shook her head. "Not if the point is to _avoid_ a fight. Amenadiel is out, what with his current lack of powers." Azrael tapped one finger lightly against the counter and ventured, "Mom?"

Lucifer pondered the suggestion, then shook his head. "We know she can heal, but we don't have any idea what else she can do. She might not be any help, even if she was willing."

"She'd be willing," Azrael countered, "if only for the chance to see Michael. And, well, just her presence might be helpful... but I'm not sure how Michael would react. Think he'd try to take her back to Hell?"

"That's entirely possible," Lucifer replied, with a grim nod. "He's always been dear old Dad's yes-man, after all. Might be best to avoid that, don't you think?"

Azrael nodded and took a deep breath. "So it would just be us."

"Don't say that like it's a bad thing, little sis," Lucifer said expansively. He added more seriously, "It's up to you, though. If you'd rather not ask him..."

Azrael was silent for a long moment. "I want to know," she said finally. "And this seems like the quickest way. I'll call him," she hastened to add.

"Doubt he'd answer if _I_ called," Lucifer replied equably.

Azrael closed her eyes and folded her hands.

After a few moments, Michael appeared. "Impatient, aren't you?" he chided. "I haven't even seen Father, let alone had a chance to ask him-" Turning, he caught sight of Lucifer and any congeniality left his manner. "Lucifer."

"Michael," Lucifer replied airily, his tone a little too cheerful, a certain manic gleam in his eyes.

Azrael sighed. "Yes, that's right. We all know each others' names, very good." She essayed a short golf clap, then drew back a little as both her brothers turned on her, Lucifer's expression amused, Michael's annoyed.

"Azrael, why did you call me?" Michael demanded.

With an overly bright smile, Lucifer said, "We've just got a question for you, little brother."

Azrael sent an unobtrusive elbow at Lucifer's ribs, muttering, "Could you please dial it down a little?"

"Oh, that's no fun," Lucifer replied. At Azrael's continuing regard, he sighed, and gestured for her to continue.

Turning to Michael, who was looking increasingly annoyed, Azrael smiled. "Thanks for not just taking off. It's just one quick question, if you don't mind?"

Lucifer added brightly, "And if you're a good boy, you can have some cake. It's quite nice, actually; Rae made it herself."

"Will you please shut up?" Michael asked through clenched teeth. Turning from Lucifer to his sister, Michael asked, "What is it, Azrael?"

After casting a pointed look at Lucifer, Azrael took a deep breath and asked Michael, "Why did our father send me here?"

Michael's brows lowered as he looked between his siblings. "You called me here for that? Azrael, you know why you're here."

"Yes, but let's hear it again, shall we?" Lucifer suggested.

Peering down his nose at Lucifer, Michael replied coldly, "I don't answer to you, you degenerate."

"Oh, so you _have_ been paying attention," Lucifer replied, getting to his feet and moving to pour himself a drink. He looked over to Azrael, lifting the bottle in inquiry.

Azrael looked profoundly tempted for a moment, but shook her head at Lucifer before turning hopefully to Michael. "Please, brother? Can you go through it one more time?"

Michael sighed, his jaw working. "We don't need to do this again, Azrael."

"Maybe he's forgotten," Lucifer suggested, his solicitous manner rather overdone. "What about it? Having some memory lapses, are we, Mikey?"

"Michael," the angel corrected sharply.

Azrael didn't say anything, but just watched Michael entreatingly. The silence stretched, Lucifer looking fascinated as Michael squirmed under his sister's imploring regard. "Fine," he said finally, moving to take a seat. "It was... you know, the situation with Uriel."

Lucifer, his manner closer to serious, observed quietly, "We all know that Rae wasn't responsible for Uriel's death, Michael. Why are you doing this to her?"

Michael's lips tightened. "I'm just doing what I'm told, Lucifer. And I'm well aware that Azrael's part in Uriel's death was... minimal."

Azrael put a hand on Michael's shoulder, gripping it for a moment. "I know how it is," she said, her voice rich with sympathy. "It's important to toe the line with Father. But did he really send me here because of Uri? What did he say, really?"

Michael didn't speak for a moment, looking between his siblings. His gaze settling on his sister, he said reluctantly, "Since you already seem to have made the connection... Father wants you here, Azrael. With Lucifer, in this-" He gestured at his sister. "-body."

Azrael inclined her head." Okay," she said slowly. "So he's not upset about Uri?"

Michael regarded Azrael with a trace of pity. "Of course he is, little sister. He lost his son, our brother. How could he not be upset? But him sending you here had nothing to do with that."

Azrael exchanged a look with Lucifer, then asked Michael, "So why _did_ he send me here? Why take me away from my job, my power?"

Michael dropped his gaze for a moment, then regarded Azrael regretfully. "I don't know. Father never told me."

An edge to his voice, Lucifer inquired, "What instructions did dear old Dad give you, exactly? Did he say to tell Rae she was being sent here because of Uriel?"

"I didn't tell her she was here because of Uriel," Michael said hastily.

Azrael stepped away from Michael and toward the balcony, her hands balling into fists. "You definitely gave that impression, though. And you didn't correct me when I thought that was it."

Lucifer shook his head. "Well, you really are a chip off the old block, Michael. You're a manipulative bastard, just like the old man."

Catching the dangerous note to Lucifer's voice, Azrael looked sharply at him. "Luci-" she began, before shaking her head. "Time for you to leave, Michael," she said firmly, turning away from her brothers, her back ramrod-straight. "Now."

Michael got to his feet and moved toward Azrael. In an instant, Lucifer was between the two, one hand lifting in warning. With an irritated look at his brother, Michael said, "Azrael, Father said to get you here, so that's what I did. You said you understood how it is."

"She said that it's time for you to go," Lucifer said, his voice dropping half an octave, his eyes flashing red.

Michael drew back a step, a hint of quickly-masked concern in his dark eyes. Looking past Lucifer to Azrael, he said, "I'll speak to Father." He was gone in an instant.

Azrael stumbled to the couch and sat down heavily, dropping her head into her hands. Lucifer moved to sit next to her. He rested a hand on her back, feeling the ragged tremors that shook her body. "I don't know what to do," she said, her voice muffled by her hands. "Luci, how do I get him to change me back, give me back my job?"

Lucifer was silent a moment, weighing his answer. "I don't think the change is permanent," he said finally.

Azrael nodded, her face still hidden. "Michael said that," she agreed.

"But you and I both know, little sister," Lucifer continued softly, his hand tracing a circle on Azrael's back, "That Dad does things in his own time. I'm not saying it's right, but that's how he operates. Railing against him, satisfying though it is, isn't going to make him act."

With one final, shuddering breath, Azrael lifted her head. Her eyes were clear, though her expression was grim. "So he sent me here, specifically here, with you, and I have no idea what he wants me to do."

Lucifer offered a wry little smile. "Really, how is that different from what he ever does?"

That brought a smile to Azrael's face, though there was no pleasure in it. "True. So I guess I just go on as I have been, and hope I get it right."

"That's the spirit," Lucifer encouraged sardonically, turning as the elevator doors opened to reveal Maze.

The demon paused just inside the penthouse, her manner alert. "Who?" she asked Lucifer.

"Michael," he replied. "He's gone. It's fine; no violence."

"Too bad," Maze replied. "I was up for a little violence."

Lucifer gave Azrael a final pat and got to his feet. "Yes, because it's a day ending in Y."

Azrael, watching the interaction with mild interest, queried, "How could you tell?"

"Angels stink," Maze replied bluntly, adding to Azrael, "Let's go."

Azrael cast a puzzled look at the demon. "Go where?"

Maze exhaled an impatient sigh. "I got us some mat time." When Azrael didn't look especially enlightened, Maze mimed a punch. "You said I should teach you how to duck."

"I didn't mean..." Azrael's initial, disturbed expression tempered to one of wary interest. "Do I get to hit back?"

Maze smirked. "You can try, Tiny Death."

Azrael got to her feet. "I'll get my shoes. A little violence sounds good, just now." She vanished down the hallway.

"What did Michael want?" Maze inquired, investigating the angel food cake and wrinkling her nose.

Lucifer shook his head, looking after Azrael. "As it turns out, Azrael wasn't sent here because of Uriel. Not sure what Dad's up to, but Michael didn't seem to know either. The bastard let her think it was because of Uriel, though." Turning to Maze, he added lightly, "Do try not to break my sister."

Maze shrugged. "I'll go easy on her," she agreed carelessly, "But I'm not going to let her hit me."

"Well, no. Of course not."

Azrael pulled on her leather jacket as she came down the hallway, a little trepidation in her expression. Seeing it, Maze shook her head. "Come on. I won't hurt you... too much."

Trailing behind the demon, Azrael murmured, "I hope I don't regret this."

Lucifer watched the pair leave, his brows lifting at the back of Azrael's jacket. Shaking his head, he moved to pour another drink. "Cheers," he called, as the elevator doors closed.


	2. A Night on the Balcony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer addresses his father, but is heard by another family member, who bears news from Upstairs.

Lucifer stood on his balcony and surveyed the night sky, nearly-empty lowball glass in hand. His evening's conquests drowsed in his bed, happily sated, but his restlessness had driven him out of doors. He refilled the glass, then lifted it skyward in an ironic toast.

"Well, you really screwed up this time," he observed, after downing half the drink in one gulp. "You let Michael handle things, and look at what a mess he's made of them. Rae's desperate to please you, you idiot. She would have done anything you asked - anything. But you sent her here without directions and now she's flailing."

"I don't know that she'd do _anything_. Not yet."

Lucifer looked toward the source of the voice. His brother Michael lounged in a nearby chair. Smirking, Lucifer queried, "What, you missed me so much that you just had to come back to see me?"

Ignoring Lucifer's words, though his lips tightened, Michael continued, "And just so you know, I haven't made a mess of anything. I was just doing what I was told."

"Yes, well, plenty of people _just doing what they're told_ have ended up in Hell," Lucifer replied with a short, humorless laugh. "And if you think you haven't done anything wrong, you haven't been paying attention to our sister."

Michael got to his feet and moved to look out over the balcony, though he left a wide berth between himself and his brother. "Azrael and I had a perfectly nice conversation when I was here last week. She's fine."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Lucifer said, "You lived in the Silver City with her for millenia and you don't know her at all."

"I didn't exactly see much of her," Michael said tartly, his voice full of disdain as he added, "She spent most of her time dirtside."

Lucifer drew himself upright. "Dirtside," he echoed, a note of umbrage in his voice. "By which you mean here?"

"It's not so much the place as the people," Michael replied contemptuously. "I can smell them on you, brother. I can't believe that even _you_ would lower yourself like that."

"Well, sometimes they do the lowering, in all the best ways," Lucifer replied, his voice light but his expression rather flat.

Michael made a face like he had licked a cat, eliciting a brief laugh from his brother. "Oh, too much detail for you?" Lucifer queried, his voice full of malicious humor. "I haven't even gotten started. Why, just this evening, we got some parsnips and two pints of safflower oil, and we-"

"Stop," Michael protested, a strangled note to his voice.

"You should try it sometime, brother," Lucifer purred, his voice dropping to a hypnotic tone. "Take the advice you gave our sister. Less watching - and I know you've been watching. More... participating."

"That doesn't work on me," Michael spat. He looked away, toward the horizon, and took a deep breath.

Lucifer, though, didn't allow Michael time to collect himself. "Or perhaps I'm offering the wrong thing," he needled. Gesturing toward the bottle, he said, "Get another glass. We can't get drunk, but we can make a good try. Or, no, I just got in some great molly the other night; I'm sure I've got some left."

"Brother," Michael protested. "Your body is a temple."

Lucifer grinned just a bit too widely. "Of course it is," he agreed. "But you didn't specify whose temple. Aphrodite," he announced, with a grand gesture toward the penthouse, and the room within where his bedmates still slumbered. Lifting his glass, he added, "Dionysus. I'm really quite devout, when you look at it that way. Worship every day." Looking extremely pleased with himself, he turned to his brother.

Michael's face was a study in disgust. "You deviant blasphemer."

"Devil," Lucifer reminded him. The 'duh' was implied. "So that's a no on the molly?" When Michael shook his head, Lucifer continued, "Of course I'm a deviant, by your standards, but at least I'm not a tool."

Michael regarded his brother with some puzzlement. "You mean me? Of course I'm a tool." Lucifer let out a short, amused laugh as Michael continued, "I carry out our father's will."

"Well, that's the crux of the matter, isn't it?" Lucifer observed. "You'll just do whatever he asks, without a second thought."

Michael stared at his brother with no small amount of incomprehension. "Of course," he agreed. "And so should you. Brother, if you'd just return to Hell..."

"What?" Lucifer demanded. "All will be forgiven? I hardly think so. Just give it up, Michael. That's never going to happen.

A shriek shattered the air before Michael could reply, coming from within the penthouse and drawing Lucifer's startled gaze. After a moment, Azrael dashed into the balcony and flung herself at Michael. "How did you get him to agree to it?" she demanded, laughing and crying at the same time.

Michael hugged Azrael close, regarding Lucifer over the top of her head with a rather smug smile. "Well, it did take some effort," he allowed. "That's why I didn't come back sooner. Is Raphael still here?"

Overlooked in Azrael's raucous arrival, another angel hesitated at the entrance to the balcony: tall and fair, he had the same dark eyes that the siblings shared. Inclining his head to Lucifer, he spoke with fragile politeness. "Brother. My apologies for this invasion, such as it is. There was no other way to do it."

Lucifer pulled his gaze from the picture Azrael and Michael made, the girl finally dislodging herself from her brother as she wiped at her eyes with the heel of one hand. Michael leaned down to speak quietly to her, still watching Lucifer.

"No apologies necessary," Lucifer replied tightly.

Raphael stepped forward, deliberately placing himself between Lucifer and the others. "I'm surprised Father agreed to give her back her wings," he said casually, though not without an understanding smile.

"Is she still..." Lucifer began.

"Mortal? Yes." Raphael looked a little dubious. "I asked her to take it easy on the wings, as I'm really not sure how this is going to work, but apparently Father was very specific. Wings, yes, and the ability to hide them from the mortals. Nothing else."

Looking a little puzzled, Lucifer queried, "Do you know what his game is, sending her to me in that form?"

"No idea, sorry." And Raphael did honestly look sorry, as well as a little frustrated. "I'm not really in the inner circle these days." He tipped his head meaningfully toward Michael, and Lucifer's brows lifted.

Finishing her conversation with Michael, Azrael beamed past Raphael at Lucifer, clearly certain that her brother would share in her delight, then stepped away from Michael. With a small flourish, she unfurled her wings, all but radiating joy.

Lucifer summoned a smile. "Very nice," he approved.

Raphael stepped closer to Lucifer. "If she overdoes it," he said seriously, "or if something... happens to her, call for me. I'll come."

"What would happen?" Lucifer queried, brows lowering in concern.

"I'm not sure. Maybe nothing." Raising his voice, Raphael added, "And you're going to take it easy, _right_ , Rae?"

With a dazzling smile, Azrael replied, "Of course I will, brother. Did you notice how I didn't jump off the roof as a test flight?"

"For which I am profoundly grateful," Raphael replied, looking amused. "Michael, shall we?"

Michael nodded equably. Stepping around Raphael he leaned in to Lucifer and said quietly, his voice smugly satisfied, " _Now_ she'll do anything he asks."

In an instant, Lucifer had slammed Michael against the wall behind them, his hand around his brother's throat.

"Hey," Raphael protested sharply, trying to get between his brothers.

Michael didn't resist, instead saying, his voice a little strained, "You know I'm right."

Azrael came around on the other side of Raphael and rested a hand on Lucifer's shoulder. "Brother," she said lightly, "you're ruining my big moment, here." Her voice barely shook on the last word, revealing that she was not quite as nonchalant as she tried to appear.

Still, it worked. Lucifer released Michael in a short, violent gesture and stepped toward the edge of the balcony. "Get him out of here," Azrael murmured to Raphael, and the two angels disappeared. Azrael followed Lucifer, standing next to him. "What was that about?"

"Michael's manipulating you," Lucifer replied, reaching for the bottle and filling his glass once more.

Azrael let her wings unfurl. "With these? No, he isn't." As Lucifer turned to stare, she explained patiently, "Father is. You know Michael wouldn't jump in a lake if he was on fire without our father's say-so." She paused, then her voice took on a note of humor. "Admittedly, the fire wouldn't touch him, so that's a poor example, but you get my point."

Lucifer took a drink, then shook his head. "You knew?"

Azrael sighed. "Despite my appearance, I'm not actually eleven, brother. Dad's been manipulating me for a for a long time." She turned a little, absently admiring her wings, then added, "Michael said I should try to convince you to go back to Hell. Will you?"

Lucifer regarded his sister in puzzled curiosity. "No."

"Pretty please?"

"No! Azrael, what are you on about?"

Azrael tucked away her wings and took a seat, smiling despite herself. "That's what Michael wanted, in exchange for the wings. So I made an effort to convince you," she replied, with a small shrug. Expression going reflective, she added, "Dad's usually subtler. Must be Michael's influence. If Dad really wanted me to get you to go back to Hell, he should have let me keep my job. If I'd threatened to take Chloe ahead of her time, you would have done... something." Catching sight of Lucifer's darkening expression, she hastened to add, "Even if I could, I wouldn't do it now that I know her. Getting you to go back to Hell is not the hill I want to die on. Plus, taking people at the wrong time is a bureaucratic nightmare."

Expression clearing, Lucifer asked, "The Angel of Death does paperwork?"

"Of a sort," Azrael replied, with a quick smile. "I don't miss that part."

Lucifer topped off his glass and sat next to Azrael. "How is the training with Maze going, by the way?"

Azrael made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan. "A bit tough at first. Figuring out how to fall was... challenging, I must admit."

"You could barely walk after that first time." Lucifer grinned suddenly. "Though that's often the case after a first time with Maze."

"Lucifer!" Despite her protest, Azrael laughed. "And on that note, I'm going to turn in." She stood, her wings unfolding as if if their own volition. Catching sight of them in her peripheral vision, she smiled, though the smile faded when she turned back to her brother. "I don't understand how you could cut them off," she said softly. "And then burning them, Luci..."

Lucifer tutted softly. "Don't look at me like that, little sister. No pity. I had to do it. If they were whole, it gave me an out."

Azrael dropped her gaze, then looked up to her brother, her eyes full of compassion.  "But don't you miss them?"

"My wings?" Lucifer was silent for a long moment. "Yes," he said finally. "But not what they represent. I'm better off without them."

With a small smile, Azrael observed, "You've got your powers, but no wings, and I'm just the opposite. Between the two of us, we just about make one good angel."

Lucifer chuckled. "Maybe not a _good_ one."

Azrael stepped forward and gripped Lucifer's shoulder for a moment. "Good night, brother."

With a smile, Lucifer covered Azrael's hand with his own. "Good night, little sis." As she disappeared into the penthouse, he called after her, "I'm glad you got your wings back."

"Bells are ringing all over Bedford Falls," Azrael replied, with a laugh.


	3. A Relaxing Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azrael's relaxing afternoon is interrupted by her brother Amenadiel.

Azrael sprawled on her stomach in a soft lounge chair on the balcony, the late-afternoon sun warming her body. Quiet music played from her phone, and a book lay abandoned on a nearby small table, spine up, pages splayed. Instead, she had allowed herself to be lulled into a near drowse, enjoying the sun, the music, and, most especially, the feel of the light breeze on her wings.

She was doing nothing, and it felt glorious. For this one moment, possibly the first since she had been shoehorned into this body, she was completely at ease. Consciously, she relaxed her muscles, enjoying the faint ache from the morning's training session with Maze, and tried to remember the last time she'd had nothing to do and nothing troubling her. Even here, in this body, she'd felt a certain amount of pressure. After all, living with the Devil was not what one could call relaxing.

Sure, she liked him... even loved him, but she was also scared of him. The wings made that easier, though. She was still restricted to mortal speed, but she could always jump off the roof if need be, no matter what Raphael said. No more having to wait for the elevator, if things got to be too much. She'd still have to be careful, though. Always careful. She pushed away those thoughts with a sigh and closed her eyes, focusing on the music: acoustic guitar, wordless, just enough to distract her so she didn't have to think.

A quiet cough behind her sent a terror-fueled jolt of adrenaline through her body. She sat up, tucking away her wings as she turned to face the interloper.

Amenadiel. He stood just inside the balcony, his face expressionless, and Azrael was suddenly taken back to all the times he'd caught her at mischief, back when her actual age was closer to that of her body. "You need to be more careful," he said, his voice low and rough. "I could have been anyone."

"Yes, brother," Azrael replied meekly, unsuccessfully willing her heart rate to return to normal. She didn't make excuses - they never worked with Amenadiel - but instead lowered her head, studying her oldest brother through her eyelashes.

After a long moment, Amenadiel asked, "Where's Lucifer?"

Azrael grabbed her phone and turned off the music. "On a case." She wasn't sure if she wished Lucifer was home, or not, honestly. Things had a way of escalating in his presence.

Amenadiel nodded and turned to leave. "I'll come back later."

Azrael got to her feet, her posture reflecting her uncertainty. "Wait!" Amenadiel paused, but did not turn. Azrael thought fast. "Do you want some cake?"

Now Amenadiel turned, with a puzzled expression. "Cake? Why cake?"

Azrael shrugged. "Why not cake? I've been baking lately. Keeps me occupied." She moved past Amenadiel into the kitchen and started to assemble plates and forks, flicking the occasional glance at her brother. His expression gave away nothing, but she'd always had trouble reading Amenadiel. "I'm going to ask you something. I want you to know that I'm not talking philosophy, or about your life choices, or anything like that. And I'm not going to judge you based on your answer. Okay?"

Amenadiel followed his sister, settling easily to a seat. "Now I'm really interested to hear what this question is."

Azrael took out a knife. She smiled. "Angel food or devil's food?"

Amenadiel shook his head in vaguely amused disbelief. He didn't smile, though, not quite. "Really? That's the kind of cake you have?"

"I could say chocolate and white, if it makes you feel better?" Azrael cut a slice of the white cake for herself, then grabbed two mugs. "Here's an easier one. Coffee?" She poured some for herself, then, as Amenadiel nodded, poured a second cup and handed it to her brother. When Amenadiel still didn't speak, she smiled, a little amused. "It's just cake, brother. Really."

"Chocolate, then," Amenadiel said.

Azrael cut a slice of the devil's food cake and slid it before her brother. "Good choice. That's what Mazikeen has been eating." She bowed her head briefly over her cake, then took up her fork. She still wasn't sure if saying grace did any good, but it wasn't hurting, and she could use all the celestial goodwill she could get. One never knew what her father noticed.

Amenadiel let the praying pass without comment. "Maze, really?" He took up his fork and tasted the cake, brows lifting.

Azrael studied her cake, unwilling to look at her brother as she made the confession. "She's been, um, helping me. Self-defense training, since I'm stuck with mortal speed."

Amenadiel shot his sister a sidelong glance. "So you're consorting with _that Hellspawn_?" he queried, a note of irony in his voice.

"Hey," Azrael replied, with a nervous laugh, "I ride shotgun with the Devil. Mainly because he won't let me drive, but still." She put down her fork, arranging it carefully just so next to her plate, and turned fully to face Amenadiel. "Seriously, brother," she added candidly, "I'm sorry for what I said to you before, about Mazikeen. I... my previous experiences with her weren't great. But now that I've gotten to know her, she's..." Her shoulders lifted slightly. "Not _good_. I mean, I'm sure she'd agree with me, there. But not... like I thought. I shouldn't have judged you as I did."

Amenadiel took another bite of cake, chewing it thoughtfully as he considered his answer. "It's what you were taught," he said thoughtfully. "What we all were taught, really. I doubt that any of us would be very open-minded about a demon." He looked over with a brief smile. "You're really doing self-defense work with her?" At Azrael's rueful nod, he asked, "How's that going?"

After a sip of her coffee, Azrael replied, "I know she's going easy on me, but I still feel like I'm barely keeping up with her. Honestly, I think she's just doing it because she likes throwing me around."

Amenadiel chuckled, a low, rich sound that Azrael couldn't help but think sounded a little smug. "That's Maze," he agreed. "Think it's doing any good?"

"I mean, I'm enjoying it, mostly, but..." Azrael shrugged. "I'm still this size, this speed, this muscle mass. If someone your size wanted to hurt me and I wasn't quick enough to get get away right at the start, even Mazikeen's dirty tricks probably wouldn't help." With a brief grin she added, obviously in jest, "I'm pretty sure I could beat up most of the people who buy their clothes at Gymboree, though."

Amenadiel raised a brow. "But you wouldn't."

Azrael managed not to roll her eyes through sheer force of will, knowing her brother's likely response. "Of course not."

"Good." Looking down at his plate, Amenadiel added, "This cake is really good."

"Thanks," Azrael replied with a quick smile, reflecting on the healing powers of chocolate cake. Clearly Trixie was on to something.

The two ate and drank in silence for a few moments, until Amenadiel said, "So... you got your wings back."

Azrael took a quick drink of coffee to moisten her suddenly dry mouth. "Um. Yes. Just last night."

Amenadiel put down his fork, though that wasn't especially odd; his cake was gone. "How?"

Azrael sighed. "Brother, you would be a lot easier to talk to if you used more words," she said with feeling. "I asked Michael if he'd ask Dad if I could have my wings back. It took him a little while - not long, though, in the grand scheme of things - but he and Raphael came by last night."

Amenadiel stared into his coffee mug. "So you're back in our father's good graces?"

"Back?" Azrael shook her head, her lips twisting bitterly. "Brother, when was I _ever_ in Father's good graces? Maybe for a time, when I was very small, but I doubt it." She set down her fork and rubbed her forehead. It didn't hurt, not really, but Azrael could feel the incipient headache this conversation was causing. "No, I'm not in Father's good graces. Probably just more of his mind games. If I were really in his favor, he would have restored me."

Amenadiel shook his head, one finger tapping thoughtfully on the counter. "Maybe not. After all, he sent you here for a reason, right?"

"I would assume so," Azrael replied. "Though Michael said that it wasn't for, well, Uriel." She hesitated over her next words, unsure of her brother's response. "Michael is... very high in his favor, just now."

Amenadiel was silent for a long moment. "Now that I'm not, you mean?"

"I didn't say that," Azrael said quickly, already regretting her words.

"I know you didn't, little sister," Amenadiel replied quietly. He got to his feet. "Tell Lucifer I was here?"

Azrael stood as well. "Of course." Her brother headed for the elevator, his unhurried strides still managing to eat up the distance rather quickly. She couldn't let it end that way. "Amenadiel." He turned. "Brother... I'm sorry."

Her brother smiled, his first in the conversation. He inclined his head briefly, and departed.

Azrael exhaled a quiet, relieved breath. Tipping her head slightly skyward, she offered, "Give him a break, would you, Dad? He's served you longer and better than any of us. If anyone deserves your mercy, it's Amenadiel."

There was no answer, but she hadn't really expected one, not at this point. With a soft sigh, she started to gather up the dirty dishes. So much for her relaxing afternoon.


End file.
